The magistrate looked at Mr. Pickwick again, and beckoned Mr. Jinks.
"What do you think of this request, Mr. Jinks?" murmured Mr. Nupkins.
Mr. Jinks, who didn't exactly know what to think of it, and was afraid he might offend, smiled feebly, after a dubious fashion, and, screwing up the corners of his mouth, shook his head slowly from side to side.
"Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, gravely, "you are an ass."
At this little expression of opinion, Mr. Jinks smiled again—rather more feebly than before—and edged himself by degrees, back into his own corner.
Mr. Nupkins debated the matter within himself for a few seconds, and then, rising from his chair, and requesting Mr. Pickwick and Sam to follow him, led the way into a small room which opened into the justice parlour. Desiring Mr. Pickwick to walk to the upper end of the little apartment, and holding his hand upon the half-closed door, that he might be able to effect an immediate escape, in case there was the least tendency to a display of hostilities, Mr. Nupkins expressed his readiness to hear the communication, whatever it might be.
"I will come to the point at once, sir," said Mr. Pickwick; "it affects yourself, and your credit, materially. I have every reason to believe, sir, that you are harbouring in your house, a gross impostor!"
"Two," interrupted Sam. "Mulberry agin all natur, for tears and willainny!"
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "if I am to render myself intelligible to this gentleman, I must beg you to control your feelings."
"Wery sorry, sir," replied Mr. Weller; "but when I think o' that ere Job, I can't help opening the walve a inch or two."
"In one word, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, "is my servant right in suspecting that a certain Captain Fitz-Marshall is in the habit of visiting here? Because," added Mr. Pickwick,
